


All The Ways

by fadedink



Series: Days of Christmas - 2008 [31]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, RPF, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-31
Updated: 2008-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 11:03:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadedink/pseuds/fadedink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's New Year's Eve, and Orlando remembers a few things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Ways

**Author's Note:**

> The 'thirty-first day of Christmas', and this one's all for [](http://azewewish.livejournal.com/profile)[**azewewish**](http://azewewish.livejournal.com/)...she should know all the reasons why at this point, but mostly because she really is the Harry to my Orlando. ;)

_**FIC: "All The Ways" - 1/1, PG, OB/HS, Lotrips**_  
Title: All The Ways  
Fandom: Lotrips  
Pairing: Orlando Bloom/Harry Sinclair  
Rating: PG  
Summary: It's New Year's Eve, and Orlando remembers a few things.  
Disclaimer: Fiction, folks. But if you believe this really happened, I've got some prime real estate I wanna sell you…  
Notes: The 'thirty-first day of Christmas', and this one's all for [](http://azewewish.livejournal.com/profile)[**azewewish**](http://azewewish.livejournal.com/)...she should know all the reasons why at this point, but mostly because she really is the Harry to my Orlando. ;)

  
  
_...ten..._

Upon meeting Harry, it took Orlando all of ten seconds to decide that Harry was, if possible, crazier than Viggo. In a completely different way, mind, but still. Completely stark raving, bat shit crazy. And it wasn't anything noticeable, or any one thing that Orlando could put his finger on. It just was. The way Harry held himself, the way he cocked his head when Karl said something funny, the way he had of talking to a bloke without actually, you know, _looking_ at them. And then there was that whole filming by the seat of his pants with no script deal that Karl nattered on about when discussing Harry's brilliance. In Orlando's head, it all added up to just one thing. Nuttier than his gran's fruitcake.

 _...nine..._

It took Orlando nine weeks to convince Harry to go out drinking with them after filming. Karl'd been telling him that he was wasting his time, that Harry didn't take well to new people, that he was a sociophobe or some such nonsense. Orlando thought that was just so much rubbish and had weaseled Harry's phone number out of Fran and began a calling campaign. It seemed to him that Harry was just a bit lonely, what with being so crazy and all. So Orlando had called, and Harry had told him no. They'd gone on like this for a while, with Harry finally offering up excuses for why he wouldn't come. Finally, one night Orlando had just abandoned the phone and appeared on Harry's doorstep. It was probably the threat to stay on his sofa until Harry came out with them that did the trick.

 _...eight..._

Orlando didn't talk to Harry for eight days after that first night out. He thought it might have been something to do with how drunk he'd got. That had led to leaning on Harry (a lot) and there might have been a completely innocent grope or two in there, but he wasn't sure. He'd been drunk. And Harry wasn't his type. Of course, it might have also been the fact that Dom, when drunk, suffers from verbal diarrhea. Which, y'know, is _bad_ for anyone who's been dumb enough to tell him a secret. Like Orlando had early on. He wasn't going to make that mistake again, thank you, but he probably owed Dom for frightening Harry off from their friendly get togethers. Even though Karl had said that was just how Harry was and Orlando shouldn't make a big deal of it. Orlando did, though, because he felt like a bad host. Regardless of the fact that they'd been in a pub. Though, perhaps next time the drinking should be done at Harry's place.

 _...seven..._

Standing outside in the cold on someone's doorstep probably wasn't the best way to apologize, but Orlando spent seven minutes trying to convince Harry to let him in the house. Then, when he finally got out the apology, Harry had just looked at him. And looked at him. And looked at him some more. And then, in a completely Harry tone of voice (which you'd know if it had ever been directed at you), he'd ask Orlando what the bloody hell he was on about. Orlando had just stood there, mouth open, and tried to formulate an answer. He hadn't succeeded, so they'd ended up at Harry's kitchen table, drinking herbal tea with honey in it, talking about Karl and Viggo and whether or not the two of them really were shagging like rabbits.

 _...six..._

Six months into filming, Harry filmed his final scene and that was that. Or so Orlando thought. But then next morning, Harry had shown up at his front door, with coffee (which Harry didn't drink and Orlando couldn't survive without) and fresh croissants. Orlando, sleep-tousled and clad in just his pajama pants, had blinked at Harry, smelled the coffee, and promptly declared his undying love. He neglected to mention the fact that he'd love anyone who brought him coffee before noon on his day off. Harry had just laughed, pushed his way inside (much like Karl was given to doing), and made himself at home. Orlando didn't even spare a thought for how _right_ Harry looked, stretched out on his sofa first thing. It was just one of those things that was.

 _...five..._

With enough caffeine in him to power an army battalion, Orlando spent five hours attempting to teach Harry to surf. It went much better than the time they'd dragged Viggo out on a board. Poor sod had ended up with a beaut of a black eye that had sent P.J. into hysterics. Harry, oddly enough, seemed to be more coordinated. In the water, anyway. Orlando had noticed ages ago that Harry could be a right clumsy git on dry land. Which often led to amusing situations. He'd taken right to that board, though, leaving Orlando with the sneaking suspicion that Harry was part fish. Or that he'd surfed before. It was just another thing to add to the list of things he kept meaning to ask Karl. Not that Karl would tell him, of course. No, he'd just give Orlando a look and ask, once again, why he was so curious about Harry.

 _...four..._

Orlando passed out on Harry's sofa four weeks before the wrap party. They'd been getting on famously for months, much to Karl's open amusement, and Orlando had managed to talk Harry into having a barbecue at his place. There had been beer. A lot of it. And Orlando had consumed more than his fair share, if he was being honest. And it wasn't that he was a lightweight, per se, it was just that, well, he couldn't drink as much as the Kiwis. And Harry's sofa was plush, warm, and just bloody comfortable. That was the last place Orlando distinctly remembered being. How he ended up in the bed, in just his boxers, was a mystery to him. He wanted to ask, but then Harry had been all casual like over breakfast, and really. Just how was Orlando supposed to ask then? Just open his mouth and pop out with an oi, Harry, did we shag like mad last night or what? No, definitely not. Contrary to what the hobbits believed (and told everyone as often as they could), Orlando did have a bit of tact. If Harry had taken advantage of Orlando in his drunken state, he'd tell Orlando. Right?

 _...three..._

New Zealand and all its happenings were three months in Orlando's past. Funnily enough, he still talked to Harry at least once a week on the phone. Harry, who (as Karl claimed, but Orlando figured Karl was just yanking his chain about a lot of things, really) never talked to anyone on the phone for more than a few minutes. Yet there they'd be, hours later, still nattering on about everything and nothing. It was only after the first few calls that Orlando decided Harry just might be the smartest person he knew. Smarter than Vigs, and that was saying something. And he had the wickedest sense of humor that Orlando had ever encountered. There's something to be said about knowing just the right time to deliver a punch line. He was still nuttier than Orlando's gran's fruitcake, though.

 _...two..._

Two years since he'd seen Harry (though they still talked every few weeks), and Orlando wondered just what the hell he was thinking. No one flew halfway around the world at the holidays on a whim. Apparently Orlando did, because there he was, on the place, somewhere over the Pacific on his way to Auckland. And Harry didn't even know he was coming. Orlando, being Orlando (though a few years older and calmer), had a moment of intense panic and some thoughts along the lines of oh, fuck, what if he's not, I'm going to look like the world's biggest prat just showing up like this. The small voice in his head told him to relax, because this was Harry and even if he wasn't home, he'd be somewhere in the country, and Karl would know how to find him. Even if Karl did bitch and moan about not being Harry's secretary. He'd do it just to keep Orlando from crashing on his sofa.

 _...one..._

Eleven P.M. on December 31st, and Orlando had forgotten just how warm New Zealand was this time of year. Even if it was well after dark. And it was probably a good thing that Harry hadn't moved, because Karl had been less than helpful. A bit of shock that Orlando was there, then a warm hug and yeah, think Harry's home, didn't mention leaving. And Harry's light was on the house, like usual, so Orlando took that as a good sign...though Harry was probably going to kill him for showing up this late. Still, though, Orlando rang the bell and waited, thinking that yes, he really was a big girl's blouse for the champagne and glasses, but what the hell. It was New Year's Eve, he'd flown halfway around the world to see Harry, and if Harry was busy, Orlando would just drink it himself. Then Harry opened the door. And every doubt Orlando had, every second thought he'd indulged in on the flight, all the nagging worry and what ifs vanished when Harry smiled. Just like that, Orlando knew, and he smiled back and held up the champagne. Harry let him in, and it was just as if Orlando had never left. Still grinning, he turned to face Harry, managed to get out a single happy New Year's, and then Harry's lips were on his, soft and warm and _right_ , and Orlando couldn't remember why they'd never done this before.

 _...happy New Year, mate..._


End file.
